Get Low (Feat. Kill Dyll)

You're a goner
Yeh, yeh, yeh, yeahhh
What? What? What? What?

I'ma hop out the whip
He ain't run, ain't run, ain't run, ain't run, get low
Big stock and a clip
My gun, my gun, my gun, my gun unload
New rocks for the kicks
I step, I step, I step, I step on throats
Get rocked in the pit his neck chin checked
Now his face laying down, it broke (Yuh)
And he think he hard 'cause he yelled on the beat
But that's something that I would've scrapped (Ah)
And I dropped a bag on this Audi
I'm pushing a hundred, I'm doing the dash (Yeah)
I grip it like I'm outta Saudi
I'm putting a bullet inside of his back (Uh)
And they never findin' his body
If I miss my shotty then he gettin' stabbed

Bodies catch bullets like a light to a moth
Fuckers try to press me, never knowin' what it cost
Pushin' every bullet, every blade 'til they rot
Dead lullabies in their mind when I'm out
When out I'ma kill, what I'm 'bout boutta fill
Everybody with a shell, is it fake, is it real?
Boutta swallow every pill just to feel something still
I'ma take what I can, what I can't I am feelin'
I'm peeling back scalps, what I'm about
In constant agony, that's what I shout
Kill for the culture and Kill for the clout
Dyll ain't no vulture, he'll make you a spout
I'ma be making it with or without
The fuckers against me, you better watch out
Re-up no payment
I'm pushin' his face in
The curb in the pavement
The fuckers that hate me
Are really displacing
My thrown next to satan
Fuck you, I hate 'em
I leave 'em encased in
A tomb, not located
A stain on my sneaker
You're nothing but faded
Nothing but jaded

Existence erased, I'm nothing but cold
I'ma be killin' it 'till I am old
See him so brazy, think that he tall
That fucker is lazy, I'll make him real small
Duck all these bullets, my K like to blow
His friends in the back all fold and scream,"Get low"

Big stock and a clip
My gun, my gun, my gun, my gun unload
New rocks for the kicks
I step, I step, I step, I step on throats
Get rocked in the pit his neck chin checked
Now his face laying down, it broke (Yuh)
And he think he hard 'cause he yelled on the beat
But that's something that I would've scrapped (Ah)
And I dropped a bag on this Audi
I'm pushing a hundred, I'm doing the dash (Yeah)
I grip it like I'm outta Saudi
I'm putting a bullet inside of his back (Uh)
And they never findin' his body
If I miss my shotty then he gettin' stabbed